A/N: This isn't really a story. Just a snapshot.

I have given the blood discrimination issue a bit of thought, and this is just a scene I have come up with that might help me understand the age-old conflict between Draco and Hermione. Why does blood matter so much? Why does being a muggle-born automatically point to inferior in the eyes of old Slytherin families? Why is it an insult, and why should Hermione feel insulted? There has to be some explanation. This is the best I can think of.

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm not making any profit at all.

DRACO

He turned around to see Granger following him again. Draco didn't even bother to be civil- as if he had the inclination even before his life started propelling out of control.

To be honest, a secret part of him acknowledged her presence and didn't want to drive her away. Going into the Forest was a creepy situation that he had no desire to be alone in. A small irritating part of his conscience reminded him of his first detention- diving into the Forest with Potter and Weasel wasn't his happiest experience. Though the older Draco Malfoy had mastered enough defense spells in the past five years of his education, the Forest's daunting darkness never failed to encompass his presence. In here he could no longer grasp on to his ego, nor his name. In here he was laid bare.

Though never would he admit it to anyone else. Such a fear had been so successfully stashed away into the deepest creases of his brain that even a skilled Legilimens as Voldemort would have trouble extracting that particular piece of information, but at such proximity with his fears, they had gradually started to submerge. Draco pushed them away, veiling them with thoughts of his mudblood companion.

She had followed him. Then let her suffer his insults.

"I always pride myself on the ability to charm the living daylights out of a beautiful girl, though such a privilege has an annoying proclivity to dump upon me a few most unattractive females of the wizarding world." Draco sneered, voice loud and sharp, piercing the night. "What ails you, mudblood?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but not all my actions are based on yours, Malfoy." She snapped in retaliation. "Stop calling me mudblo- oof!" Her torso connected sharply with the forest floor, cutting off her speech.

Draco stopped in his steps, waiting for the Granger girl to get up. Even if he was to extract a certain forbidden root from the Forest to mend a certain cabinet, he did prefer another person's presence, even if it was Granger. At least Granger knew nothing of his mission, nor would she be likely to find out- his plans, not concerning murder in the slightest, were ingenious. He was Draco Malfoy, after all. She would probably associate Mimbulus Mimbletoina with boils and warn everyone not to touch anything before casting revelation spells on it. He couldn't simply sneak into the Gryffindor common room and steal Longbottom's plant, anyways. She would probably associate Yew with death and resurrection- bloody tree simply had to grow in the Forest, of all places.

After a full three seconds, he forced himself to look back.

The Granger girl lay panting on the ground, not making any effort to stand. Draco snorted. He hesitated, debating on the cost-benefits that getting his hands soiled with a mudblood could do. Yes- no? On one hand, he won't be alone on this errand, even if his companion was a filthy mudblood; on the other...

Granger moaned, looking thoroughly unwell, and hoisted herself up to a sitting position, feeling for her wand. "What," she groaned, "are you going to help me? Think I sprained my ankle, or something."

Her face was ashen under the moonlight, speckled with dirt. Draco leaned back, disgusted. "Get my hands stained with mud?" He laughed. "No, thanks. There isn't anywhere to wash it off."

HERMIONE

She didn't believe that was what he said. After being slightly civil through the walk to the forest, she had abandoned the thought of simply running away and fetching Harry and Ron to curse his arse off. She thought he was probably too vulnerable to be confronted now; besides, Harry was with Dunbledore and Ron had to look after Ginny, prepare for whatever Harry wanted and catch up with his studies in one go. Hermione, on the other hand, was free. So she decided to be a better person and follow Malfoy into the forest- except that he had detected her presence.

On retaliation, something caught her foot and brought her down.

The pain was searing, and worse, it didn't feel as if something inflicted it from the outside. It felt like a sprain, or maybe a broken bone- she gasped, unable of speech or movement; when she came to her senses, Hermione remembered her sinister companion.

"Get my hands stained with mud?" He laughed. "No, thanks. There isn't anywhere to wash it off."

She pulled herself up, wincing at the pain. It wasn't so much her ankle that hurt; his words had cut her- even if she had heard similar insults in the past, she couldn't just brush this off her shoulder. They were starting to be civil to each other- she had fallen painfully- her heart hurt- and all he did was cock his platinum blonde head to one side and sneer. She felt her eyes grow hot and watery, refusing to cry for a Malfoy. They never change. Never.

"Do you have a problem, Malfoy?" She bit back, holding up her left palm, which had suffered a cut in the fall. "Are you surprised I don't bleed mud? What trash you are, Malfoy, pureblood trash, with a name and an ego and nothing else. I thought you may have changed a bit- all this time I actually took the risk to follow you in case some hippogriff left you lying on the Forest floor in tatters, I abandoned Ron and Harry- because I thought you were in trouble. I thought you actually had troubles, beyond blood discrimination and cursing fellow students. Well, I thought wrong." She flashed her eyes at his blurry figure, not bothered to wipe tears that threatened to overflow. "I thought you had integrity, but you were just as arrogant and mean as your father. Trash, Malfoy, pureblood Trash."

With satisfaction she saw blood rise to his cheeks. Though she was conscious of the fact that Malfoy could hex her upside down and inside out, she didn't care. "Trash," she egged him on, anticipating his fury, welcoming it, a suicide attempt to bring him down from his throne. "Pureblood trash."

"Silencio!" He snarled, as Hermione waved her shield charm just in time to render his attempt useless. "You mudblood filth", Malfoy proceeded, snarling, "Look up all the books in Hogwarts and you won't have a tenth of an idea what that term means, and why you should be in rightful mind insulted."

He paused. Hermione racked her brains furiously for an answer, but found none.

"Wizardry is an art, a life, a bloody exclusive evolutional step forward."Malfoy continued, his eyes slicing through her bravado. "It runs in my veins: the pure ability to extend beyond the horizons of life, the responsibility of maintaining the magical line; assuring each generation perpetuates its hold on elite knowledge. It is a responsibility we earned and cultivated throughout the millennia. Moreover," he lowered his voice to a predator's mocking whisper. "Throughout centuries muggles have burned wizards on stake for the simple act of existence, yet you have the audacity question our contempt of your survival? For centuries we were hunted down to near extinction, for centuries we endured your wrath. And through those centuries, from muggle families rose witches and wizards claiming to be magical, abusing the art and wallowing in our beautiful knowledge. With no history or pain, they aim to supersede our roles, abandoning their own lives to consume ours, Granger.

"And this is why the noble lines of wizarding families hold mudbloods in contempt. That pain and reverence of magic simply flows in our blood. We know its true beauty and worth. You, Granger-" He slammed her against a tree, his face inches to hers, eyes foreboding. Slowly, silently and clearly, he spat out the words. "Know-it-alls like you, use magical knowledge for your advantage. You are good at everything because you want to be. I am good at everything because there is no choice. Magic is your toy. Magic is my history. We make space for you in our territory, only to have you arrogantly slide in. You were inferior because you are muggle-born and ignorant, and we treat you as inferior because you do not know your place. Other families have forgotten the older wars, but Malfoys never forget. It is what we are born to be.

"I hate you- despise you- because magic is bestowed on you by chance, and not through generations of blood and suffering. You did nothing for magic yet it comes to you. Hell- it comes to you a lot naturally than it does to other wizards, whose grandparents and great-grandparents spilled drop by drop of magical blood to ensure the continuality of their line. It is not fair.

"Why does the sun rise and fall? Why do planets spin and universes collide? You attribute it to science and mathematics, but did you ever question what was behind them? You invent equations and religions to gain a hold on your respective faiths in knowledge and integrity, yet never hesitate to question the substance behind whatever you construct and mindlessly believe?

"Don't tell me you never wondered, mudblood." He sneered, breaking away, turning his back to her petrified form. "The smartest student Hogwarts has seen in twenty years, yet you never wondered? I'm appalled. You muggle-borns see everything we provide as an obligation. You never see your existence as a gift."

It was pure reflexes that urged Hermione to go on, to spit back in his face, to push these haunted words back to the darkest corners of her brain.

Malfoy was mean, arrogant, cowardly and shallow! He was shallow! Draco Malfoy judged people on blood, appearance and house! He hadn't two brain cells to stick together, and there he was giving legitimate reasons for his discrimination- as if all his atrocious beliefs had an ounce of foundation!

But she knew what he said were true. Hell, she could almost understand the ground of his discrimination, but never would she accept it. Simply being logical and rational didn't automatically warrant for a statement's authority. His words were true but wrong, and Hermione had stopped distinguishing the line between truth and justice. She knew she was treading ice: fighting his logically justified theory with her own belief of what was morally right.

Surrender your logic and resort to gut intuition. Believe in your theory and stick adherently to it.

The moonlight shone directly into his eyes. Sharp and concentrated, destitute of emotion, so terribly challenging that she really couldn't look away. So she retorted, almost on impact, because Hermione Granger would never lose an argument to Draco Malfoy. Never.

"You don't even think muggles are human. All you do is sit upon your throne and cradle your so-called responsibility, when so-called diluting the blood has proven no harm on the wizarding race." She argued, fire rising in her cheeks.

"Blood is spilled because of conflict, because noble pure-bloods like you didn't have the brains to grasp on the fact that ability, not hierarchy, is the key to preserving the wizarding world. You claim muggles are worthless. Yet did you stop to think what would happen if you hadn't been blessed with an ounce of magic? For you, it would be the end of the world. But muggles live through it every day and they can still survive. Granted, life isn't so easy, but through hardships we have learnt to strive. Muggles have the analogy of the human body at their fingertips, while all you acknowledge of blood is their color, flavor and purity. Muggles have been on the moon, worked their satellites- don't ask me what a satellite is- out of this solar system, and all wizards do with these heavenly bodies is stargazing. Muggles can generate heat; they can cool a room, and can also sufficiently communicate over large distances. All this is done without magic. They don't have a wand to hide behind, so they face the world as it is. I can even say that most muggles have more courage and intelligence than wizards. Give them a chance, and you'll be totally overruled- that's why you don't like them. That's why you hate me.

"We co-exist, Malfoy. Muggle-born wizards bring to the wizarding world intelligence, spirit and perspective you never had before. Wizards shape the world. And in turn the wizarding world is based loosely on muggle achievements: the aspect of currency, etiquette, geometry, linguistics, philosophy and so on. Our histories intertwine.

"You say we take everything for granted? Did you even stop to consider yourself? You take for granted the fact that muggles are dumb, selfish and unworthy, and won't even believe otherwise if someone stuck a piece of evidence up your nose!

"Don't you dare try your arrogance with me. I can hex you six ways from Sunday and you know it. It doesn't matter if you are a pure-blood and I a muggle. It matters that you have no integrity at all- arrogant, egoistical, heartless bitch!"

DRACO

"It matters that you have no integrity at all- arrogant, egoistical, heartless bitch!"

Draco swept down upon her again, eyes sparking dangerously in the moonlight.

How dare she. How dare she say that, to him, a Malfoy, a pure-blood? How dare she treat his most valued properties like shit!

Don't hit a girl, his inner conscience screamed. Not under any circumstances should you hit a girl.

So he sneered, spat out the first insult that came to his mind. A sweep of his robes, Draco strode arrogantly back to the castle grounds, Yew and Mimbulus forgotten. The Granger girl was printed on the back of his retina like a stencil gone wrong; as much as he wished to wipe the image off the face of earth, he couldn't. Draco ignored the sobs in the distance, ignored his throbbing heart, clenched his jaw and headed back to the dungeons.

How he hated her.

A/N: *sigh* my inspirations never get finished so I've resorted to snapshots... maybe when I've got enough I'll link them all up. lol.